


The Barber Shop

by maps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cute, Fluff, M/M, barber shop!au, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maps/pseuds/maps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry meets a pleasant stranger while getting a hair cut. Maybe it's worth losing a bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barber Shop

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Inspired by Harry and Lou’s twitcam (http://spirrk.tumblr.com/post/29046860423). Also I wrote this a while ago and haven't edited it since i posted it so sorry for any mistakes ok

Ugh. Harry’s hair was yet again jabbing him in the eye. How long was he going to put up with his long hair before it blinded him? Or caused him to crash and cause a six car pile up on the freeway? He just couldn’t handle it anymore, even if he does loose the bet. So what? He’s willing to loose fifty bucks for a hairstyle that’s causing his forehead to break out in zits like wildfires. And if he was being honest, it was starting to mess with his confidence.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. His bed was too warm and cozy to want to leave it so soon. And a soft ray of sunshine shone down on him, slanting through the window. Wanting nothing more than to just stay in bed all day, he grudgingly stood. He stretched his arms far over his head as a yawn took over his face. ("Yaahhhh…") He took a step closer to the window to open it. The wave of fresh, clean air that washed over his face was rejuvenated and woke him up better than any hot shower could. He sighed, closing his eyes against the summer glow that lit up his front yard.

After a quick shower, a barely thought out outfit, and a breakfast of oatmeal with blueberries, Harry was well on his way into town. It may be childish, but he loved going to the barber shop. Ever since his dad used to take him when he little, the trip was almost sacred. It was one of the only things his dad had ever done that showed Harry that he actually cared about anything other than alcohol.

But that was over with now, and he hasn’t talked to the guy in over ten years. It was just a sad memory, living on through the legacy of the barber shop.

The fifteen minute drive flew past, and Harry already finds himself parked behind the small brick building. After he patted his pockets and checked the cab around, him making sure he had his belongings, he exited the car. He had a spring in his step as he walked up the side of the building, heat emanated from the dark red bricks to his left. Mmmmm, he loved summer…He rounded the corner and pulled at the door handle. He hadn’t bothered to slow his pace, so when the locked door stays put, he almost runs right into it. Flustered, he looked around to make sure no one had seen. 

What the fuck? Why’s the door locked? Harry asks himself. 

He then realized that it was a Sunday morning, and the small, family owned, barber shop was closed due to their avid church going habits. He groaned loudly and rested his forehead against the glass window pane in of front door. The vintage red, white, and blue Barber Pole next to the entrance rotated slowly on it’s axis. It reminded Harry of that one stray tumbleweed in those cheesy Western movies.

He didn’t want to waste a trip into town, and he definitely didn’t want to wait another day to get his hair cut, so he opted to driving down to Main Street to find another barber shop.

He didn’t have to look long or far to find what he was searching for. There was a small little salon in between a popular antique store, called Antique Annie, and a family owned 50’s style soda shop. Harry hadn’t realized how old fashioned this city was. He thought all the little shops were adorable and the whole place had a family-cozy environment. Needless to say, he loved it here.

He parallel parked directly in front of the little salon (not a barber shop, to his displeasure), and hopped out. Luckily the door opened easily under Harry’s influence. The small interior was open and bright, and not at all the crowded mess he had anticipated. The large skylights made for plenty of natural light that made the place shine. From the salmon colored seat cushions to the golden, royal looking frames around the vanity mirrors, everything was happy and zingy. Harry the stifled the lazy, content smile that the aura of the room had caused.

There were only two other people present, and they worked there. At this early in the morning (It was actually already 9, but who’s judging?), Harry figured every sane person would be sleeping. Or in church like his barber’s family.

The secretary was a beautiful Asian woman who’s skin glowed light brown and who’s ink black hair flowed like water when she laughed at the other worker’s story he was just finishing up. Harry’s eyes flicked to him. He was laughing while wrapping a hairdryer’s chord around it’s body. His tan skin, slightly lighter than his co-worker’s, didn’t glow. It emanated. It was almost matte in tone, and Harry wondered if it was due to the man’s boisterously bright clothes. He wore royal blue pants, that Harry thought hugged in all the right places. The longer he looked, however, Harry couldn’t see any wrong place for tight pants to hug. The man’s shirt was less revealing in the contours of his body, but it suited him. The purple woven strands of the sweater were intermingled with reds, greens, and blues. The heavy fabric hung off of his slender frame and flowed in a way that gave Harry the urge to feel it because he knew it couldn’t be softer or spongeier than it looked. Right? Yet he did wonder why the man had chosen to wear a sweater in the middle of summer…

Before he could be caught staring, he looked back to the woman who greeted him, “Hello, welcome to Aristotle. What can I do for you today, sir?"

"Just a haircut today," he said through a smile.

"Well it’s your lucky day! I think we may have an opening…let me check," she joked, dramatically looking through their schedule book clicking her tongue. “Hmmm…Oh! Yes, it seems I was correct: we had a cancellation for our 9:15. I think we can squeeze you in." At this, the man in the sweater burst out laughing. Harry allowed his eyes to wander over to him to take in all the beauty that was that strangely pretty man and his musical laugh.

"I guess I’m just lucky, then," Harry said to the woman.

Laughing as well, she told him, “Yes, yes you are. Go on back, then. Louis will take care of you."

Louis directed him to sit on one of the salmon cushions. He adjusted the height of the seat so the top of Harry’s head lined up just under Louis’ chin. 

"Your hair is beautiful! I love curls…" Louis playfully inspected Harry’s curls. He ran his hands through them, loosening their hold on each other. Harry had to refrain from closing his eyes at the touch.

"But what are we thinking today? A trim? A cut?" Louis’ hands fell to Harry’s shoulders as his head dropped down to rest his chin on his right hand. He whispered, “Or are you feeling daring? How about a mohawk?" 

Harry felt giddy. He smiled small, and replied, “Just a trim. I’ve never been one for extreme hair, to be honest."

Louis laughed. “Okay, well that sounds wonderful. Let’s just turn you around to wash these luscious things," he said while spinning the chair then lifting the counter top to reveal the sink below.

"Oh, I already washed them this morning," Harry reassures his stylist.

"Honey, you haven’t lived until you wash your hair with our shampoo, " he said in a matter-of-fact way.

Harry wondered, while Louis’ hand massaged his scalp, if Louis had been flirting when he called him “honey," or if that was just the way Louis was…Either way, he enjoyed the butterflies the pet name had caused his belly to transform into.

Louis wrapped a towel around Harry’s curls when he had finished. After he pushed the back of the chair up so that it clicked back into place, he mumbled something about needing to change his shirt because it was “too hot" and that he’d “be right back." Harry had wanted to say something like, “Yeah, no shit. It’s summer," but the boy’s blue pants were already out the back door.

When he returned, he was wearing a white button-up shirt that had, what looked like, tiny blue airplanes or birds on it. It was buttoned all the way up to his neck in a way that complimented his thin body. His hair looked a little less perfect, but Harry thought that made it all the more hotter. The way it swept off to the right side of his head like gently rolling waves. The way small chunks in the back stuck out and up in different directions. The way Louis would gently caress a stray strand of hair to return it to it’s rightful place. Ugggghhh. Harry had never seen something so beautiful. Even though he figured Louis was gay and didn’t mind if he caught him staring, he thought that too much of anything is never good. He didn’t want to look like a creep, or socially awkward, so he forced himself to look away.

Louis was good at what he did. There was no doubt about it. Harry was amazed at how fast he gently measured the length of each chunk of hair with his eyes before snipping it off. Harry hadn’t said exactly what he wanted, just a trim, so he was mesmerized by how Louis just knew what he was doing. Harry watched through a veil of dark, wet curls at Louis’ precious hands flying over his head.

"Okay! All done!" Louis said, breaking Harry out of his stare. Already? “Just gotta blow dry it now." A small hand reached for a hairdryer.

Louis clicked a diffuser onto the end of the dryer as to not separate the curls too much. He brushed one hand through the curls while the other held the machine. He shook his hand at the base of the locks to allow more heated air to touch them. 

"Doesn’t this place own any combs?" Harry called over the wind, mock snobby.

Louis laughed. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Yes, we do, but I like to use my hand because basically, what we’re doing here," he says to an imaginary audience, “is adding volume to the curls."

"I probably don’t need much more volume," Harry lauged. “Plus, you’re burning my head!" It really wasn’t that hot, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

"Oh, correction: basically what we’re attempting to do today is burn his scalp."

Harry didn’t understand how Louis could keep such a good poker face because he, himself, couldn’t stop smiling. “Owwww! My ear’s on fire!" he joked, but no really, it was. 

"Just giving some volume to the curls. Sorry about your ear, kid. Well tat’s all, folks! Until next time-" and he shut off the hair dryer, finally laughing.

"Oww," Harry siad and rubbed his poor ear. “How hot does that thing go?"

"Well, supposedly high up into the ear scorching degrees," Louis banters playfully.

"Yeah, well, not ‘supposedly,’ but whatever."

Their smile crinkled eyes met in the mirror for a moment before Louis looked back down to Harry’s head. He absently picked a few straying strands here and there and put them back into place.

"Viola!" he said brandishing a very nice set of Jazz Hands.

Harry let out a bark of laughter, and felt a warmness grow in his chest.

After he payed, Harry walked out back to his car with both his head and heart feeling light, although for two very different reasons. His head was free of extra weight, and his heart was filled with giddy excitement. He got into his car, and drove home.

That night, while lying in bed, Harry couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying his last interaction with that lively creature named Louis.

Harry had been walking out the front door, his back turned and everything, when Louis called out from the back of the room.

"Hey, what’s your name curly?"

Turning to look over his shoulder at his questioner, he had replied, “Harry," with a broad smile dimpling his cheeks.

"Well, Harry, you should probably come back in a week or two so we can check out that ear. You know, it’s a little known fact that almost all cases of third degree burns are caused by hair dryers."

Harry had just rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Is that so?"

"Yes," was all Louis had said, nodding vigorously.

"Okay then, Dr. Louis. See you in a week!" Then he had turned, and walked out of that happy salon wondering if their idle, slightly joking, plans to see each other again would actually be upheld.

Now, lying in bed, the thought still wracks his brain, but in a gentle way. A reminder. A small smile creeps onto his lips just before he drifts off to sleep, the image of the intense gaze Louis had had while cutting Harry’s hair, looking small and serious and like everything Harry had ever wished for.


End file.
